


In Which Papyrus Thrusts His Bone Down a Drain

by cobwebcorner



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Brief appearances by Undyne and the annoying dog, Domestic Fluff, Gen, POV Second Person, Present Tense, but they're still in the underground, everyone is friends and no one died
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-02 00:32:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10933257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobwebcorner/pseuds/cobwebcorner
Summary: Christmas gift for a friend. The request was for domestic fluff involving an adult Frisk living with Papyrus and Sans in Snowdin.There are blankets, plumbing issues, and awful puns, as one would expect.





	In Which Papyrus Thrusts His Bone Down a Drain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tsukumogami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukumogami/gifts).



It's early morning, and the bedroom is dark except for weak blue-tinted light streaming through the thick curtains. Or, you assume it's morning. It's hard to tell down in the underground, but Papyrus is already tramping around getting ready for the day so it might as well be morning. You stir gently from your fabric cocoon, poking your head out to watch the skeleton pin his cape into place. He notices your squinting gaze and pads over to you.

"DO YOU NEED ANOTHER BLANKET?" Papyrus whispers as quietly as his font will allow. You consider the small mountain of blankets already piled on the bed. Papyrus had remembered Undyne's constant complaints about the cold in Snowdin and overreacted a bit when he realized you, as a fleshy being lacking fuzz, might also get cold. Quilts, blankets, old coats, and the odd length of plain fabric in every color and pattern were heaped up on the bed to a height of roughly five feet.

There might be room for one more, but you aren't sure if the bed will take the additional weight. When the three of you had started sleeping together—literally sleeping together, with all the snoring and tossing and turning and mutterings of 'vroom vroom!' that entailed—you had obviously needed a bigger bed. But Papyrus wasn't about to give up his race car bed (not that you would let him), and neither of you even wanted to touch Sans' disaster heap, so Papyrus had built a 'sidecar' onto his bed. Sans had tried to explain that only motorcycles had sidecars, but Papyrus had just bellowed something about vehicular discrimination.

So he'd scrounged up some boxes and nailed them to his bed with what looked like rotini pasta screws, then dumped a mattress he'd found at the dump onto the rickety construction. It was a little lumpy at first, but after the first ten blankets it became the most comfortable thing you'd ever slept in.

You shake your head at him, and Papyrus nods in reply before sneaking out of the room. He might have been stealthier if his big boots didn't clomp against the floor with every step. Yawning, you snuggle back into blanket mountain. Sans is still in here with you somewhere, snoring softly a few feet to your left. You can see his phalanges sticking out from between two bone-patterned quilts.

 

It had taken some doing to get Papyrus used to your “excessive naps,” but at least he was trying to be quiet whenever you were in bed. It helped that he was napping himself more and more often, as he liked cuddling with you and cuddling often led to other things (mostly sleeping on each other half-embedded in blanket mountain).

The illusion of quiet shatters when Papyrus yells up the stairs, "SANS! I TOLD YOU NOT TO MOVE THE TOWEL FROM UNDER THE DOOR!"

"ok bro," mutters the lump next to you. You're pretty sure he's still asleep.

"DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF YOU LEAVE AN OPENING LIKE THAT?WE'LL HAVE AN INFESTATION ON OUR HANDS."

“ok bro,” the lump says again.

A thunder of clomping up the stairs, and then 6 feet of irate skeleton bursts through the door.

“SANS ARE YOU LISTENING TO—OH!” Papyrus shrinks as he meets your gaze, obviously just remembering he's supposed to be quiet when you're sleeping. “SORRY. GO BACK TO SLEEP.”

“ok bro.”

“NOT YOU, LAZYBONES! AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE AT WORK?”

The lump stirs, a daisy-speckled blanket sliding aside as a wide white skull pokes out of the pile.

“i'm on my lunch break,” Sans says.

“SLEEPING DOES NOT COUNT AS EATING LUNCH. AND, IT IS NOWHERE NEAR LUNCHTIME!”

“sure. I'm eating z's,” Sans says, winking, and you hear the faint echo of a rim shot in the distance.

Normally you have loads of patience for their shenanigans, but you had a late night last night terrorizing the countryside with Undyne. Time to take a leaf out of her book and show them what happens when one is too loud near a mountain. You burrow between the wall and the peak of blanket mountain, plant your bare feet into the pile near its center of mass, and shove.

The brotherly bickering cuts off with a pair of muffled yelps as the teetering mountain of blankets spills over. You ride the falling cotton and fleece all the way down to the door, wooping “AVALANCHE!” at the top of your lungs. By the time the blankets settle, half the room is covered in fabric and both skeletons have been buried.

“NYOOOO! THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS BEEN BESTED BY SNOOZE ACCESSORIES!” the lump to your left says.

“well, you know what the blanket said when it fell off the bed,” the lump to your right says.

“WHAT? I DIDN'T HEAR ANYTHING.”

“yeah. it said, 'oh sheet.'”

“SANS, DON'T BE SO VULGAR.”

“is that a blanket statement?”

“SANS!”

Yawning, you climb to your feet. It's early morning, and you're apparently up for the day. This calls for tea. As you go to leave, your hear a very soft 'woof' near your feet. You pause, eyeing the blankets around you with suspicion, and toe a few. There is nothing to be found but fluff and more fluff, so you shrug it off and head downstairs to the kitchen.

“y'know, i used to work in a blanket factory.”

“YOU DID NOT.”

“but it folded.”

“SAAAAANS.”

 

You chuckle to yourself as you get out the kettle, listening to Papyrus stamp his foot upstairs. Across the way, you can see both the front door and the towel that has been nudged out from under it. The towel had been your suggestion. It was something your mother—your birth mother—used to do on cold nights when you couldn't afford to turn the heat on, to keep a little more of the chill from seeping through the cracks. You still weren't sure what, exactly, Papyrus was trying to keep out. He didn't feel the cold, and there were already three thriving ant colonies living in Sans' room.

Your dreams of morning tea are soundly thwarted when you turn the sink tap and nothing comes out. You scowl from atop your step ladder, the kettle shaped like your face (a housewarming present from Asgore) swinging from one hand. Papyrus clomps into the kitchen behind you, still grumbling under his breath, a small blanket caught on the corner of his hipbone. You tell him the sink won't work.

He climbs up beside you on the ladder (he had improved the sink's storage space to the point where no one but Asgore could use the faucet without a stool) and jiggles the faucet handle, to no result.

“HMMM. SANS! DID YOU FILL THE SINK WITH SLIME AGAIN?”

“nah, toriel's not coming over until saturday,” Sans says from the other side of the kitchen. You didn't see him come in. He must have taken a shortcut. “having trouble?”

You tell Sans that nothing is coming out of the pipes, and ask if they have any Liquid Plumber.

“THE ONLY PLUMBERS I KNOW ARE IN A VERY SOLID STATE,” Papyrus tells you. “EXCEPT FOR THAT ONE GUY, WHO'S MORE OF A GAS. FEAR NOT, HUMAN! I WILL SOLVE THIS ISSUE!”

Papyrus flips open the cabinet under the sink, only to let out a gasp of horror at the empty space he finds.

“NOT AGAIN! WHERE HAVE MY BONES GONE?”

Once again, you hear a soft, muffled 'woof.'

“WHAT WAS THAT?” Papyrus yelps.

“here bro, use one of mine,” Sans says, handing his brother a long femur. Where do they get those bones, anyway? Do they...grow them? Are they produced by asexual budding? Every lesson you've ever had on monster biology has only left you with more questions.

“THANK YOU, SANS. EVERYONE STAND BACK, I NEED TO BONE THE SINK,” Papyrus announces. “...WHY ARE YOU GIGGLING?”

You wave him off, smothering your giggles with one hand as you climb down the stepladder. Sans meets your eyes and winks, which just makes you laugh harder. The two of you stand a safe distance back and watch The Great Papyrus, Master Plumber in action. He daintily pries off the drain cover, lines the bone up, and thrusts it inside. You can't help it. You start giggling again.

“WHAT?” Papyrus asks, with such innocent confusion it almost makes you feel terrible and immature. Almost.

“find any clogs?” Sans asks.

“THERE'S DEFINITELY...SOMETHING.” Papyrus frowns, jiggling the bone a little. “IT'S A LOT HARDER THAN I WAS EXPECTING.”

It takes every ounce of your self control to contain the 'that's what she said' that wants to leap from your vocal chords.

You hear another soft 'woof.'

The front door bangs open behind you, and you turn to behold Undyne framed in the doorway with her leg still extended.

“NGAAAAAH! Papyrus, you're late for your training!” she says, and the kitchen things rattle a little on their shelves.

“SORRY, UNDYNE! WE ARE HAVING PLUMBING PROBLEMS,” Papyrus says.

“Plumbing problems, huh?” Undyne comes over to the sink and looks it up and down. “Have you tried shoving a magic spear through the pipes? That always works for me.”

“I DO NOT HAVE A MAGIC SPEAR. BUT I DID USE A BONE! AND WE HAVE DETERMINED THERE IS DEFINITELY A CLOG.” Papyrus draws the bone up out of the drain and plants both hands on his hips, nodding confidently to himself. “I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW TO GET IT OUT.”

“Ha, that's easy,” Undyne says.

You think you know where this is going, but before you can stop her Undyne has already seized the sink and torn it out of the wall. The three of you stare at the broken pipe sticking out from the ruins of the cabinet, and the fuzzy white face poking out from it.

“woof.”

“Wh...?” Undyne says, the sink still in her hands. “How?”

“huh,” Sans says.

“I TOLD YOU! ONE INCH! THAT'S ALL IT NEEDS!” Papyrus shrieks.

You gently pry the annoying dog out of the pipe. Holding it close so it doesn't escape again, you ask Undyne what the next step is in her brilliant plan. She looks thoughtfully at the sink in her hands.

“Ah. Hm. Well, I guess you better install a new sink!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I will never apologize for the shameless innuendo.


End file.
